


Expect the Unexpected

by literallyjohnwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literallyjohnwatson/pseuds/literallyjohnwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’d been in situations most would consider far more unusual, all of which were a direct result of Sherlock; killing a man without a second thought for someone I’d known for little over a day, being tied up and threatened by Chinese gangsters, hanging about a swimming pool with enough explosives strapped to my chest to blow up an entire block. As unlikely as these situations had seemed at the time, nothing felt more unlikely than the compromising position I was in now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expect the Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> This really is blatant porn, with quite a bit of fluff, I think. I mostly just wanted an excuse to write in John's POV, which I really enjoy, AND write porn :). I suppose I should have had someone brit pick this, but I hope it's not too bad in that respect.

Are you ever at a point in your life where you look around, and everything is so unbelievable that you have to sit and think hard about the steps you took to get there? And even after you retrace every single thing you did, you still aren’t sure how you ended up where you are?  
  
When you’re flatmates with Sherlock Holmes, you tend to have quite a few of those moments. As I lay wide-eyed and awake, naked but comfortably warm, next to my flatmate’s slumbering figure, his face nuzzled into my shoulder and his arm draped over me, I realized I was in one.  
  
I’d been in situations most would consider far more unusual, all of which were a direct result of Sherlock; killing a man without a second thought for someone I’d known for little over a day, being tied up and threatened by Chinese gangsters, hanging about a swimming pool with enough explosives strapped to my chest to blow up an entire block. As unlikely as these situations had seemed at the time, nothing felt more unlikely than the compromising position I was in now.  
  
The night had started out normal—well, normal enough for us two. I reckon most people wouldn’t consider hanging about a crime scene and poking at dead bodies on a Friday night very normal.  
  
Sherlock had been excited, abnormally excited, really. The cases had been running dry, and he’d been driving himself (not to mention me) up a wall for weeks. I admit I was relieved that something had come along to keep him occupied, lest he turn to less than satisfactory methods.  
  
“Finally, John. This is it. Our dry spell has been broken,” he said to me in the cab, drumming his long fingers excitingly on his knees and shuffling his feet. The tone of his voice was akin to a kid before Christmas. I grinned at him. He may be the smartest person in the room at any given time, but his behavior was surprisingly and often childlike.  
  
As our cab pulled up, we were met with the familiar sight of blinking lights, yellow tape, and Greg ruffling his hair in frustration. Sherlock bounded out of the cab without a second thought, while I was left to foot the fare. I dug in my pocket for a few bills and thanked our driver, and jogged to keep up with Sherlock as he trotted toward the scene.  
  
By the time I’d reached him, he was already exchanging the usual pleasantries with Sally Donovan, while Lestrade stood aside, rubbing his temples with his fingers in frustration. I grabbed Sherlock by the arm and yanked him away before he could throw any more insults at her. Sally was only threw back at Sherlock what he dealt her; I never thought she was cruel by nature. Sherlock had a way of bringing the worst out of some people. I thought to myself for the hundredth time that I was glad to be counted among his friends.  
  
Sherlock wrenched free of my grip and traipsed through the police tape, disregarding procedure as per usual. I nodded apologetically to Greg as he turned to follow us. Upon reaching the scene of the crime, Sherlock was immediately examining every detail available to him. He was in his element, his eyes were darting non-stop, he was craning his neck, observing every angle. As many times as I’d bourn witness to a scene like this, it never ceased to amaze me. I reckon he’ll always amaze me. By just being himself.  
  
After not more than a few minutes of observations, Sherlock exhaled loudly, throwing his hands up and letting them fall uselessly to his sides. He let out what might have been an amused laugh, but I knew better.  
  
“I should have known better than to get my hopes up. Once again Lestrade, you’ve managed to drag me out of the house for something so blindingly obvious.” He gave a sarcastic smile and turned to leave as Greg’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.  
  
“I don’t bloody care how obvious it is to you, it isn’t to anyone else. I didn’t ask you here to entertain you, I asked you because I need your help,” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up and following Sherlock. I followed soon after, keeping my fingers crossed that Sherlock wasn’t about to do something stupid.  
  
By the time I had reached them, Sherlock had already made it to the street and was attempting to hail a cab while Lestrade continued to hound Sherlock for details.  
  
“Sherlock, please! You can’t leave me with nothing,” Lestrade pleaded while Sherlock kept his gaze fixed forward, paying him no mind.  
  
“Can’t I? I’m not an officer, I’m a consultant. I can do as I please.” Sherlock had succeeded in hailing a cab, and much to Lestrade’s continued grievance was giving the cabbie directions and getting in.  
  
“Sherlock!” he barked, as if he was chastising a teenager. Sherlock shut the door in his face. I sighed heavily and pursed my lips, knowing I’d have to deal with him throwing a tantrum all night. I admit I was disappointed that Sherlock’s boredom wasn’t absolved, because I was left with the negative consequences. Nevertheless, I clapped a hand on Greg’s back and gave him a weak sympathetic smile.  
  
“Greg, if I can get anything out of him, I’ll be sure to let you know. I’m sorry, he’s been restless for weeks, I should have known—“  
  
“It’s fine, John. Well, it’s not, but you don’t have to apologize.” He returned my feeble smile.  
  
“Ah, right then. Take care, hope everything resolves itself.”  
  
“You and me both, John.”  
  
When I entered the cab, Sherlock was already huffed in the corner pouting. I wasn’t going to baby him tonight. It was a right crummy thing to do, walking out on Lestrade like that when he so clearly had needed Sherlock’s help.  
  
“What the hell was that, Sherlock?” I demanded of him as he sat in the cab head down, threading his fingers through his hair in frustration.  
  
“That was a horrendously predictable crime,” he muttered, not bothering to look up.  
  
“That may be, but you’ve just chosen to let a murderer run free because he was too boring for your taste.”  
  
“Relax, the murderer killed his victim and then himself.”  
  
“You’re a git,” I spat, thinking that I should be used to his blunt insensitivities by now.  
  
“You don’t understand how endlessly frustrating it is, being unable to pacify your own mind—”  
  
“Yes of course, because my tiny, dim mind couldn’t possibly know.”  
  
“John, you know that’s not what I meant.”  
  
“Really? Then what did you mean?” He did sound sincerely apologetic, but I let my temper get the best of me. Sometimes I truly had to wonder what he really thought of me. Was a really just some simple-minded, dull person to him? I admit I’d probably never know what he really thought. Regardless, I did not appreciated being called stupid, no matter who was saying it.  
  
He took a breath before replying. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply insult to you. It’s just difficult, being this restless.”  
  
“I know, Sherlock,” I sighed. It was difficult for me too. Difficult when Sherlock started shooting the walls of our flat due to boredom.  
  
Sherlock turned his gaze away from me and spent the rest of the cab staring moodily out the window. He really didn’t realize how brooding he was, and again I found myself grinning at him. I grinned at him a lot, I suppose. Even when I was mad at him.  
  
Once again, when the cab rolled to a stop, Sherlock was out and trotting to the stairs of 221B without a second thought, leaving me to pay the fare once more. I took back that grin.  
  
I followed his steps to the door, and when I entered I’d lost sight of him. He must have already sulked into his room to do god knows what. I’d honest to God only seen his room a handful of times since moving in with him. No telling what he did in there.  
  
Closing the door behind me, I removed my coat and placed it back on its hook, but before I could get much further, I was met with two strong hands on either shoulder and a pair of unexpected lips on mine.  
  
Sherlock was not in his room.  
  
He had me pinned against the wall, though not forcefully; his grip was gentle enough that I could escape if I wished, but I was glued to the spot. I’d never been caught more off guard in my entire life, and as a trained military officer, it took a lot to catch me off guard. Whether it was shock or something else entirely that prevented me from moving, I still don’t know. But for a few long seconds, Sherlock had me indisposed and slack-jawed underneath him, my gaping mouth granting him access to do whatever he pleased.  
  
I hadn’t kissed a bloke before—not properly, at least. I’d had a few sloppy drunken encounters with men that accompanied my military service, but they weren’t anything to brag about. In fact, all involved had sworn never to speak of it again. But I’d never experienced something like this. A full-on snog, with Sherlock no less. His lips were crashed on top of mine, tongue prodding but not entering completely. They were soft, but firm and strong and demanding, his breath heavy and mingling with mine. He’s always clean shaven, but I could still feel hints of stubble scratching my face. And his scent—it was familiar to me, but I’d never smelt it so intense. Musk and honey, bittersweet, just like him. God, it was making me light-headed. He pushed his body close to mine, his hips grinding dangerously into me.  
  
Oh no.  
  
I don’t know what it was that finally brought me back to my senses. Perhaps when the blood started rushing from my head, my body realized that it was extremely confused. I tried to speak but my words were muffled by Sherlock’s mouth. When he realized I was protesting he quickly pulled away. He looked bewildered. Courtship: another thing Sherlock was completely clueless about. Despite my disorientation, I had to suppress another grin.  
  
“Sher-wh-what the hell was…?” I sputtered, still processing what had just occurred.  
  
“Forgive me. I was…attempting to placate myself. My boredom drove me to act but I assure you that’s not the sole reason. From what I’ve observed, I didn’t think you would object,” he stated simply.  
  
“You didn’t think I would object to snogging my male flatmate?” It was more of a statement than a question.  
  
“You’re not gay and I wouldn’t call you bisexual either, but you’re curious, and—”  
  
“Alright, alright, spare me the details of how you know that.” I was surprised by my own choice of words. How he _knew_ that. I’d basically just confirmed that what Sherlock had said was true. And at the moment, I wasn’t sure myself. Naturally, I was mentally conflicted. Even if I decided I was open to relations with men, it would be dangerous to do so with Sherlock. Everything I did with Sherlock was dangerous. This could ruin us, and I wasn’t sure this was something I was willing to risk our friendship on.  
  
On the other hand, my body was responding in ways I’d never dreamed it would. I also never dreamed that this would ever occur. He kissed me for all of 20 seconds and he left me disheveled, panting, and with half an erection. I could honestly say no woman had done this to me before. In fact, _no one_ had done this to me before. Sherlock was right, I was curious. I was curious to see what else he could do, what it would be like if we went further. What he would be like, how he would respond. Could I make him hard? Could I make him moan and pant and claw at my back? What kind of lover was Sherlock Holmes?  
  
These thoughts alone were enough to make me fully hard, but I still couldn’t commit to the idea of this. This was almost insane. Having relations with my male flatmate, my male _best friend_ , out of the blue, just because he was bored? I had to admit to myself, this feeling of insanity was just the same as the rush I got while out on a case, while running from criminals and putting myself in physical danger. I understood now why Sherlock had chosen to make a move. I couldn’t deny that some part of me was enjoying this, and I knew if I tried to Sherlock would correct me.  
  
“If you’re uncomfortable, I won’t press you,” he stated, his hands trailing down over my arms and going slack around my wrists.  
  
“You’re mad, you’re impossible. We can’t just—” I sputtered, shifting uncomfortably underneath him. He’d chosen now to be a considerate human being. I made the mistake of letting my line of sight be drawn to his lips, which just moments ago were on mine.  
  
“It’s fine, John. I understand.” I could detect a small amount of defeat in his voice though I could tell he was making an effort to sound deadpan. His touch at my wrists ceased, and he turned his head to retreat to his room. As he turned away from me, all I saw was a door closing that I might not be able to open again. A lost opportunity for something that I had a burning curiosity about, something that my body was clearly yearning for.  
  
Dammit.  
  
In a fit of impulse, I grabbed Sherlock by the shoulder and whirled him around. Like something out of a romance novel, I grasped his suit jacket on either side with both hands and pulled him into me, plunging my lips onto his. This time he was the one caught off guard, his jaw hanging slack. However, his surprised lasted little more than a few seconds, and soon he was incredibly responsive. Our tongues prodded cautiously until we each allowed each other’s entrance. The first kiss was searching; this one was hot and wet and desperate, each of us struggling to catch out breaths. Sherlock closed the space in between our bodies and _oh shit_ I was hard. I wrenched my head away from the kiss, my bottom lip running through Sherlock’s teeth as he pulled away. I kept close to him, our foreheads touching, both of us panting.  
  
“God, you are mad,” I husked, my voice more gravelly than I expected. He placed a needy kiss on my lips before I’d even finished talking. “Impossible, absolutely.” Another kiss. Not breaking away this time, I couldn’t resist it. He was intoxicating, my mad detective. I should have known that if I was ever to be involved with a man, it’d be him. It was always him. And there was that grin creeping across my face again.  
  
I wrenched his suit jacket off his shoulders, and he wriggled his arms out of the sleeves, letting it fall to the floor. I dared to plunge a hand down in between the two of us to cup Sherlock’s groin. He shivered at my touch and upon feeling his erection I moaned into his open mouth. He was so hard, had I done that? One thing was for certain, it was far easier to tell when you were pleasing a man as opposed to a woman.  
  
It was comforting to know that I was able to arouse Sherlock; what wasn’t comforting was the fact that I really hadn’t the slightest idea what to do next. I felt like I was in high school again, and despite my apprehension, I had to admit that the prospect of Sherlock laid before me, mine to explore (and I his) was highly enticing. This was new territory for me in what had been really a very average sex life.  
  
My hand still wedged between us, I groped around attempting to find the head of Sherlock’s cock through his trousers. Whatever I was doing down there must have been working, because I felt Sherlock go slack against me, letting out a low growl from his throat.  
  
“Sherlock,” I hissed headily in between our kisses. I felt like the room had risen about fifty degrees in the last few minutes and my head was spinning. There was nothing else, nothing but his hands on my neck, setting my skin on fire, and both of us, hard and wanton.  
  
Sherlock groaned again, louder this time. It drove me mad to hear him like that, to have him squirming and panting when he was usually so reserved. What would he sound like mid-orgasm? He opened the space between us just enough to begin ripping my belt off, and I was surprised at his impatience, though I supposed I shouldn’t be. Patience was never one of his strong points.  
  
As he hastily undid the button of my trousers, I already thought that I could feel his hands on my cock, and God I wanted them. When I felt his nimble fingers creep underneath the waistband of my pants, I was no longer aware what I was doing with my own hands. When I felt his cool hand wrap around me, I forgot where I even was. My eyes were clamped shut, my head thrown back, my breath choked in my throat. His thumb came over the head of my cock, smearing it with precum, and my face fell forward into his shoulder, stifling the strangled moans I was emitting.  
  
Either Sherlock was able to deduce what to do, or he wasn’t a virgin after all. I wouldn’t put either past him. My face still on his shoulder, I swiveled my neck and began sucking and biting at his. The taste of his skin was just as intoxicating as his scent. Groping blindly, I somehow managed to locate his belt buckle and was able to clumsily undo it. I felt his breath hitch in anticipation as my hand fumbled into his pants. I admit I was still terrified by the fact that I hadn’t the slightest what I was doing, but my hand found the base of his cock and I wrapped my fingers around it, and his hips rocked slightly as I began to pump.  
  
Both of us, in the hallway of our flat, our trousers open and our hands down each other’s pants. Not exactly how I would have envisioned the night going. Or any night, ever, really. Both of us looked quite ridiculous, I’d imagine. Each of us struggled to focus long enough to pleasure the other one. I lifted my head and pressed my lips to his cheek several times until they found his mouth.  
  
“Bedroom…sofa…somewhere,” I rasped with difficulty, Sherlock planting a kiss on my lips in between each word.  
  
“Yes,” he agreed breathily. I made a mental note to get him talking more during this ordeal. To hear him ridden with such raw emotional response was something I wanted more of.  
  
Sherlock’s hands suddenly snaked around to my back, almost lifting me off my feet, and drug me away from the hall and towards his bedroom. Our kiss didn’t stop, his hands moving to the back of my neck ensuring our lips would continue to meet. I don’t know how he managed to walk backwards into his room so gracefully, but I was tripping over my own feet. As we reached his bedroom, I was swept off of them; this time he had lifted me. He was much stronger than most people would think. I was tossed onto his bed, just roughly enough to keep me incredibly turned on. He was clambering on top of me before I could even register what was happening.  
  
I examined my surroundings; his room was not as messy as I imagined it. In fact, it was quite normal compared to what I had expected. Oftentimes I think I made Sherlock out to be some kind of otherworldly being, a superhuman, above everyone else. While it’s true that he no doubt possesses something different, something special, I realized looking around his room that he was no more than a man. As I felt his touch, his breath heavy on my neck, his form pressing hungrily down on me, I knew he still possessed the same desires as most of the human population. We weren’t so far apart.  
  
Straddling me, Sherlock grabbed my face on either side and leaned down to kiss me, this time slow and soft. If you’d have asked me, I never would have thought Sherlock could touch someone so intimately. He broke the kiss but the feel of his lips still lingered on mine.  
  
When I felt his hips buck into mine I bit my lip and knew that the time for soft caresses and sweet nothings was over. We were both needy and licentious. I kicked my shoes off carelessly, Sherlock following suit. One by one I felt the buttons of my shirt being hastily undone until the skin of my chest was met with the cool touch of Sherlock’s fingertips. I craned up, attempting to do the same, though much less gracefully than Sherlock had. A playful smirk danced across his lips as I undid the last button and he ripped the shirt off, flinging it carelessly to the floor.  
  
We lay for a few very short moments, panting and drinking in the sight of each other. I marveled at Sherlock’s pale expanse of skin and his lithe form. He was thin, but there was something about his body that made him appear firm and strong.  
  
The pause in the action lasted naught but a few minutes, as Sherlock began promptly and proficiently stripping my trousers and pants down to my ankles, which I then kicked onto the floor. I don’t know what Sherlock saw in me while I was laying naked beneath him, but I didn’t spend too much time thinking about it. I knew I’d never know unless he explicitly told me, which wasn’t likely to happen.  
  
My hands struggled to wriggle Sherlock’s trousers over his hips, but he readily assisted me and in a few moments we were both completely nude, completely vulnerable to each other’s gaze. I could not help but let my eyes trail obviously down to his prick. It was a little above average size, but nothing extraordinarily impressive. I honestly don’t know what I expected, but nonetheless I was in awe that I was seeing it, that I had wrapped my fingers around it.  
  
Sherlock gave me no time to dwell on these thoughts, his hand already grasping both of our cocks together, grinding his hips into mine. I involuntarily groaned and my hands clawed at his bed sheets, throwing my head to the side. His bed was laden with his scent and it only added fuel to my fire.  
  
“Sherlock, Jesus,” I moaned through gritted teeth. Although he was on top of me, getting me off, both of us completely naked—this whole thing still seemed completely surreal to me. The initial kiss that sparked it seemed hours ago, though it couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen minutes.  
  
Sherlock only start working faster, pumping our cocks in quicker succession, thrusting more greedily. My hands came up to grab his arse, run up the small of his back and dig my nails into his shoulders.  
  
“Oh God, John,” he growled, and hearing him call my name in lust almost sent me over the edge. My hips bucked more eagerly into his, jerking in pleasure as he drew me closer to orgasm. Trailing down his back, my hands settled on his hips and I pulled at them, rocking them down into mine at just the right angle. I’d never felt this kind of stimulation before, and the newness of it was invigorating.  
  
Despite holding himself up with only one arm, he didn’t seem to be struggling, although a sheen of sweat coated both of us. Sherlock started stroking slowly and carefully, causing us both to groan. Every stroke built up more tension than the last, and I knew my climax wasn’t far off.  
  
I’d never seen Sherlock’s face betray this much raw emotion. His mouth hung agape, his eyes shut tight in concentration, his neck craning gracefully; I couldn’t deny that it looked beautiful. He was making noises somewhere between muttering expletives and moaning and I wanted him to be louder.  
  
Sherlock slowed his hips and picked up the pace with his hand, and I clawed my fingers into his arse and arched my back. The sensation was overwhelming, his hand over the both of us, driving us both mad.  
  
“John, I can’t—I’m going to—,” he choked through gritted teeth. Jesus. At this point I was holding myself back from my own orgasm. Hearing him on the brink of release was too much. I felt his body stiffen and I pulled his hips closer to me. His hand still around us both, I could feel his cock twitch and warmth spill onto me as he came while a strangled moan escaped his lips. I opened my eyes, and the sight of his cum coating both our cocks was too much.  
  
“God, Sherlock, I—,” was all I managed before I peaked, my back arching , my nails digging into Sherlock, my toes clenched. I could hear him gasp as I came, the both of us panting hard. I let my orgasm wash over me completely, thrusting into Sherlock’s hand a few times riding it out. Never had I experienced an orgasm quite like that before, and I was eager to do it again, to see what other ways we could make each other come—with our mouths, our hands.  
  
Sherlock leaned forward, brushing his lips against mine. I lifted my head to meet him, kissing him back with deepening ferocity. He slumped against me, his body weight present but not umcomfortable. Rolling to his side, he let his arm hang over my chest, and turned to nuzzle his face in my shoulder, his breath tickling my skin.  
  
At first we both lay panting, but eventually Sherlock’s breathing slowed. We both lay there in silence, drowsy and sated, enjoying each other’s warmth. I was thankful that we weren’t saying anything, as I was still feeling conflicted about everything that had transpired. The last twenty minutes of my life was honestly one of the most unbelievable things that had ever happened to me. This was not what normal people did, and not just the sex. None of this, nothing that Sherlock and I had was normal. And the fact that we’d just gotten each other off and were laying naked in his bed made me nervous as hell. I had no idea what was going to happen now. Had this been a one-time thing, or did Sherlock want something else? Could our relationship even survive this?  
  
I didn’t know, but I knew that for the moment, I was content to be in this bed, in Sherlock’s bed, with his form comfortably close to mine. I was surprised at how clingy he was; I didn’t think post-sex cuddling would really be up his alley, but he never ceased to surprise me. For the millionth time, I found myself grinning at him. I realized now more than ever how much I did that. And I supposed no matter what was about to happen, where this was about to lead us, that that was the important thing.  
  
He made me smile.


End file.
